F(*% F*#& F*%&!!!

THIS is why being child prodigy is just not worth it.

I have a law degree. I'm a freakin' DOCTOR. And yet, the random, irrelevant, unimportant fact that I was born in 1981 means I can't rent a car. This is horrifically inconvenient given that I have purchased tickets for two -- count 'em, TWO -- separate trips to Los Angeles in the upcoming month -- one to find a place to live and one to take the California Bar exam. And yet the magical number 25 remains frustratingly and, in my case, harmfully elusive. Why 25? Because car rental companies are run by idiots who like to set arbitrary standards. They must have been government bureaucrats in a past life. Avis, for instance, according to the woman I spoke with over the phone today, has a strict 25-and-over policy -- oh, unless you have a corporate account (um, because so many 23-year-olds run their own corporations, I suppose) or work for the federal government or the military. So, a young lawyer cannot rent a car from Avis, but some snot-nosed military brat out of Peterson can. I'm not impugning our military, just so that's clear. I just happen to know a lot of people in the military and I'm more mature and a WAY better driver than, oh, almost ALL of them (I grew up in a military town. I know what I'm talking about).

A few companies allow rentals even for those of us so presumptively incompetent as to defy a finding of sentience. In keeping with the age discrimination of their competitors, however, they charge anywhere from twenty to seventy dollars extra PER DAY to use their cars if you're a week shy of that magical age. And at least one of these companies is completely rented out for the time that I need a car. Grrrrreat.

Oh, but silly me. It is awfully demanding to presume that the fact that I've stuck to my guns, worked my ass off to churn out two highly respectable degrees -- with good grades, to boot -- in just seven years, the fact that I pay all my bills on time, the fact that I've never been in so much as a fender-bender, the fact that I have a high-paying job lined up, the fact that I apparently manage to disguise myself as an otherwise fully-functioning (indeed, productive) member of society doesn't count for anything, as far as these rental agencies are concerned. Because my parents didn't have unprotected sex early enough.

Yeah, I went there.

Of cooking and couches

Last night I had a dinner with a small group of friends -- each of us brought a dish. I brought a delicious (if I do say so myself) tabbouleh salad, my mom's recipe. And it reminded me how much I love cooking. How much I MISS cooking. It's not even necessarily that I don't have the time, it's more that the time I do have I tend to spend on the couch in front of the TV. I really love camping out there.

So, in a fabulous combination of two of my favorite things, I've gotten hooked on Fox's Hell's Kitchen. For one thing, it's one of the only shows on that has new episodes during the summer. For another, it features food AND backstabbing. I mean, there's no beating it. Tonight, for instance, the person assigned to pick two teammates to go on the chopping block for elimination made an unlikely decision in saving the guy who was clearly meant to be eliminated. The result was that Chef Ramsay decided to cut Chris, the only one on the show who's actually a professional executive chef. Turns out Ramsay was sick of Chris claiming that he was an expert, and failing to impress, week after week. My money's on Elsie. Ramsay likes her, and she actually works her butt off, even though she has started to crack/freak out a little bit recently. We'll see. She's a good one to root for, anyway -- a mother of six who's giving the chef thing the old college try. Who couldn't rally around that?

On a somewhat related topic, I now have a new place to rest myself while I engage in my favorite activity. When JCA left town, she also left me her couch -- all I needed to do was pick it up. Suffice it to say, picking up a large sectional couch is a lot harder than it sounds. I don't recommend attempting to do it yourself, as I did. It will take you all afternoon and you will quite possibly injure yourself. Nevertheless, I am now the proud owner of four pieces of the prettiest little (um, well, big, actually) leather sectional in Chicago. Thanks, J -- I promise to take care of her :)


Look how pretty she is!

Reason #1 I'm glad I'm moving

I'm going to start numbering these. They're not in any particular order.

Friday was the simulated MBE. Ugh. I went to the review session yesterday (well, part of it) and I'm not going today because it's just too depressing. And who wants to spend their weekend doing Bar/Bri? Anyway, after class I went over to Taste of Chicago with a couple friends, which was great because I've never been before and it was a lot of fun. Then I went home to shower and get changed, since I had plans to go out that night with some girlfriends. I opened my closet to choose my clothes...

And the sliding door was being really stubborn...

And when I finally got it open I saw why...

My closet had broken. More specifically, the single shelf (one long shelf, extending the width of the closet, meant to serve all of my hanging and folding needs) had dislodged itself from the wall and fallen, carrying all of my clothes, including the very expensive clothing, with it. A quick glance at the wall revealed that the multiple holes drilled in the wall where screws had attached the shelf had, apparently, given up the ghost. They're now big, gaping holes that are presumably too wide to support the weight of my clothing.

This is horrifically annoying. My clothes now rest in unattractive piles around my bed, which is incredibly inconvenient, especially since I'll be adding a large couch to my apartment tomorrow and anything taking up space is, well, taking up space I might need. To add insult to injury, this is the second -- yes, second -- time that this precise annoyance has visited itself on my living quarters. Only a few short months ago I was awakened to the sound of what, in my half-sleeping stupor, I feared was the end of the world. It turned out to be the shelf in my closet giving way and stubbornly refusing to do its job.

So now I have to finish cleaning my closet out and, red-faced, inform that doorman that the wall in my closet has, once again, proven itself unworthy of the work for which it was fashioned. UGH, and they might have the skeezy maintenance guy come fix it, too. Great.

I can't wait to get to Los Angeles.

whine whine whine

Ks is technically due tonight. But I haven't been studying for the essay, or for the practice MBE, which is tomorrow. Am I screwed? And do I have to turn it in tonight? If jca turns hers in late, can I? Pleeeeeeeeease?

SS Grammar Troopers

Bar/Bri makes a lot of money. So I can't help but wonder why it is they can't seem to afford proofreaders.

It's seriously bad. I've actually lost count of the numerous errors. Bar/Bri, if you're listening: I would be happy to proofread your outlines for you. I'd offer to do it for a "reasonable fee" but I know that this would not constitute a legitimate offer under the common law (the applicable law since this would be a services contract). So I'll do it for five dollars per page, a fee I think you'll agree is utterly reasonable. Feel free to contact me; my contact information is on the sidebar at left.

Lest my non-Bar/Bri readers think me snobbish, I'll offer up some examples. The evidence outline is one of the worst I've seen for these kinds of grammar mistakes. It includes incomplete sentences. For instance, on page F-53, this paranthetical follows a question: "(Answer: Federal law applies. If a privilege is involved, Federal common law (decisional law) would be the correct." That is ver batim, all words and symbols, or lack thereof, included.

My friend Sarah, who sits next to me in class, is as much of a grammar nazi as I am. Today in remedies, we had to deal with the following sentence: "If there is a 'historical' record that helps to provide certainty, e.g., old vs. new business." I was staring at the sentence, confused -- because it makes no sense. It's an incomplete sentence. It has a conditional subject followed by a prepositional modifier, with no predicate. The sentence says nothing. I sat pondering this as Conviser's inflection finally made clear to me what the sentence was meant to say: "If there is a 'historical' record, that helps to provide certainty [&c.]." I absently scribbled a comma into the appropriate space. Just as I did that, Sarah glanced over my shoulder and tapped my arm, laughing. I looked at her and she pointed at her book, where she had done the exact same thing! It's so wonderful having friends who understand me.

And it would be even more wonderful for Bar/Bri to pay me for enhancing its credibility among the grammar nazis, who are legion in the law profession! Ahem!

Mmmmm, siesta...

I was very tired today. Very, very tired.

I had dinner with my dad last night (he was in town for today only for a meeting), and his flight got in a lot later than expected due to nasty weather in Colorado. So dinner ended up being later than we'd planned. And after dinner he walked me home -- which was nice, and it was perfect weather for it. But this meant that I didn't get to bed until after 1:00 AM. And I got up before 6:00. I literally almost fell asleep on the elliptical trainer this morning. And then I actually did fall asleep in Bar/Bri. So after a little over an hour and a half, I just left. It was an essay workshop anyway, and I honestly don't understand why we need more than one of those. What we need to do is study the substantive materials, which requires studying at home. And, yeah, okay, I don't do that at home really, but I definitely don't do it in class. I just think, there are only so many tips you can give about the essay exams until it's just a matter of reading CMR and your outlines over and over and over until you know it better than you know your grandmother.

So I left. Not only was I tired and bored, but the room we have class in is never above, maybe, sixty degrees farenheit. And that's just too cold. I've heard it said that exercising is supposed to help you warm up more easily while you're sitting, but that's total bullshit. It doesn't even make intuitive sense -- if you're burning calories and building muscle, chances are you have less fat to keep you warm. So people who exercise would be more cold. And I'm always cold anyway, thanks in large part to my abnormally low blood pressure (inherited from my mom, who has icicles instead of fingers). So there was absolutely no reason to stay.

Instead, I went home, turned on the TV, and lay down on the couch. I was asleep within minutes, and ended up taking a three-hour nap. Mmmmmm. Then I went grocery shopping, had dinner and watched more TV. In a little while I'll go to bed. Um. I'll study tomorrow. Yeah. That's it. If I don't take another nap. I loooooove naps.

Just to be quasi-even-handed

Today I have a few gripes about women. They may not be the same gripes men would have about women, but this is my blog, so there.

First. The women's locker room. At the gym at my school, you can get a lock for free every time you go to the gym, and use it on any open locker. I take advantage of this every day, since I don't like going from the gym to class nasty and sweaty and wearing my gym clothes -- so I have a place to keep clean clothes and shower stuff. Apparently the fact that there are plenty of lockers and that they are FREE doesn't matter to some of these women. Today I even saw one woman look in one locker, which was taken, and then, instead of taking one of the unoccupied lockers, simply lay her stuff on the bench in the middle of the room and waltz off to the showers. I can tolerate leaving your stuff lying around for a couple minutes, if you're in the immediate vicinity (meaning eyeshot). But to leave it there while you're exercising or showering is just annoying. It gets in the way of people who are, for instance, changing in the locker room and might need a place to sit or put there stuff.

Another locker room complaint. Um, men, this may gross you out. So, again, you've been duly warned. Today I was showering and I glanced at the wall partitioning my shower from the one next to mine. Wadded into the crack between the partition and the wall was -- UGH -- a used pantiliner. Come ON. Is it SO MUCH WORK to take your waste over to the garbage can, ten whole feet away, and throw it out? Are you embarrassed? If so, you're stupid, because WE ALL USE THEM. Don't make other women stare face-level at your discarded underthings!! It's just rude and disgusting. And unsanitary. Shudder.

Third. This describes a certain type of woman. You probably know the type. Basically, selfish and whiny and opinionated. I've most recently seen some of the worst culprits on the Fox show Trading Spouses. I'm sure you know the drill: Fox picks two polar opposite families (the more fireworks, the better!) and has them switch moms for a week. At the end of the week, each family gets $50,000 -- and the *other* mom gets to choose how each family spends the money. The show follows its typically voyeuristic course over a period of two episodes, trying to cram the maximum amount of screaming, horrified looks, and sobbing into the two hours. Then the moms meet, pretend to like each other, and proceed to sniff out any changes that have been made to their families. These changes are always extensive, because no one in the history of mankind could ever run a family as well as *meeeeeeee*. Okay, fine, I get the need to leave your mark wherever you go, but what really gets to me is the NEEDINESS of some of these women. "I'm kind of nervous about going home," one mom confesses to the camera, "I kind of hope they didn't like her very much, because I want them to miss me." (hmmm... I love my family so much I hope they've been miserable.... ummm...) Another mom warns her children that if they cry when she reveals how the money gets spent, they don't get lettuce wraps (apparently this is her idea of a special treat) -- and proceeds to start sobbing herself when she finds the other mom has left $10,000 to her husband to build his dream orchard (heavens! Money she can't manipulate?!). Everything is better, though, when the letter closes by leaving $20,000 to her, to do with as she chooses. She notes that it is all hers, and she needn't share any with her husband or children.

I have to get a little political here (apologies!). Many have criticized the feminist movement for, among other things, the increasing development of entitlement complexes in women. There are a number of responses to this argument, ranging from "it's payback, buddy!" to "you're seeing something that isn't there." I'm *not* going to blame feminism for selfishness, but I'm also going to try not to turn this into Law Fairy's Week of Feminist Ranting, so I'll just stop at that :) It's definitely there, and it definitely shouldn't be -- and I think most reasonable people can agree on that. It says something sad about our culture that this kind of selfishness is not only tolerated, but encouraged, in particular by the greedy, drama-obsessed media. And don't blame me for watching it! My poor overloaded brain NEEDS junk food! And, um, anyway, I'm taking what I've seen from my TV addiction to criticize our culture, and this is valuable and useful. Being a mom doesn't mean your children are an extension of yourself; it means you are an extension of your children. If you don't like that, don't have kids.

I know this post isn't as angry as my anti-male post, but I've never dated any asshole women :)

Gasp!!

Vince Vaughn lives in my building.

I shit you not. After my Star Wars nerdfest last month I went back to my building to change, then waited for some friends to pick me up to head to a bar. As I stood in my building's lobby waiting for them, I heard a vaguely familiar voice behind me, but didn't give it too much thought. Three seconds later, a tall and VERY familiar-looking person walks right by me. My response is to stare at him, slack-jawed, as he walks down the hall and out of the lobby. I turned to my doorman and half-whispered "That was Vince Vaughn!!" The doorman gave a friendly nod, clearly unimpressed. "Oh my GOD!" I think the doorman thinks I'm crazy. Or else he is just way way cooler than me.

Obviously, this alone does not prove it. But the five hundred people I told this story to ventured a guess that the movie star-neighbor theory might explain my random celebrity sighting. I entertained it as a fun possibility, but not much more.

This afternoon I walked down to Fox & Obel, one of the yummiest places on earth and conveniently a mere block from my building, and on my way back, with bags in my hand, unkempt hair, and my glasses (albeit, they are sexy librarian glasses -- but when I'm trying to look good I tend to opt for contacts) -- and no makeup -- who do I spy walking in the opposite direction but, apparently, my newest neighbor?

And just so that I don't appear to be jumping to conclusions, there are, essentially, two things east of Fox & Obel on my street: my building, and Navy Pier. And my good buddy Vince wasn't dressed for Navy Pier.

Now I just need to find out his apartment number so I can stalk, er, deliver a welcome basket to him.

(Yeah, the lesbian thing didn't last long this time).

Grumpy

**DISLCAIMER** Advance apologies to my male readers (in fact, if you're male you might not wanna read this). If you proceed to read this post, well, you've been duly warned. I'm in a very foul mood and it's because of a man, and I'm thus feeling quite vindictive. My mouth has become accordingly fouler.

< bitter rant >

I'm pissed off. A boy has ruined my weekend. Ruined. I don't want to talk about it. But I'm mad. So I'm in a very anti-boy mood. Then I went and read the May issue of GQ, which has an article in it about men keeping secrets in relationships. Don't ask me why GQ runs articles telling men why they're fucked up -- I mean, you would think, or hope, they could figure that out on their own. But I was interested to read it, anyway. I read it and I was disappointed. Rather than providing any real depth or insight into the male psyche, which it starts off by describing as "complicated" (this intrigued me, since women's mags and even men themselves always portray men as simple, which I've never believed), it instead proceeds to point out that there's some magical inexplicable difference between men and women that drives men to need more out of life, so therefore we're all better off if men just get what they want. Because, you know, the world needs more apologists for men's shortcomings. Not that women don't have shortcomings, but we're trained from age zero to despise ourselves for our shortcomings and then hide those shortcomings so that some man, someday, might find it in his heart to think that he loves us, as long as we're careful and to never let on how unworthy we are. I'm not kidding here. Men have no clue about the fucked-up shit women are socialized to believe about themselves. And meanwhile you have people like Boy I'm Pissed At, who manage to float through life selfishly hurting women and acting as though they've done nothing wrong, and Assface the GQ writer who claims that we're all better off if we just continue to allow men to misbehave. Because that's really what women want anyway. Seriously, if women didn't want men to lie to them they wouldn't let them. So you see, it's all women's fault. Clearly.

That's it. I'm going lesbian now. I mean real lesbian, not hot lesbian. No making out in front of men, and I might even gain weight and cut my hair short, just to spite them. I am SO FUCKING SICK of all of this male bullshit. On top of being total asswipes, they even get to run the world. This is some kind of cosmic joke. It really must be.

< /bitter rant >

As a corollary to the above post, I've decided that Bar/Bri is PMS on steroids. I don't think I usually get this upset over run-of-the-mill clueless stupidity. It's not Bar/Bri itself that I'm stressed out about, but it somehow gets under my skin and makes everything else in life seem a hundred times worse. Yup. That's my excuse.

So, of course, instead of actually doing work, I think I'm going to watch a movie that will make me cry. Get it out of my system and all that jazz. Sigh.

It's official!

Just got my admission card from the California Bar today. Yikes! I'm actually taking the bar exam. Man... I didn't wanna think about that right now. I've got a party to go to!

To dance, or not to dance?

I love swing dancing.

I used to do it all the time for part of college and got halfway-decent-enough at it that I feel like I can tell people that I know how to dance. I'm not great, but I'm better than most. I haven't done a lot of dancing since I moved here, but periodically I've managed to get out for lessons or free dance nights at school or other places in town. A couple years ago at one of these dances, I met a guy who put me on a mailing list so I'm now keyed in to the local dance scene, which is great -- except that I almost never get out.

So tonight there's a dance at Grant Park, which, if it's reasonably warm outside, is walking distance from me. It's free and it will feature a 17-piece band. Which is AWESOME. Getting to dance to a live band, for FREE, is a rare treat. So, to recap: it's free. It's walking distance. It's a live band. It's a chance to meet new people and get out of the house.

But my yoga pants are so commmmmfortable!! And the TV is riiiiight here!

ARGH. I blame Bar/Bri for my laziness.

Fun with Blackacre

Bar/Bri has really taken over my life. Like, in a way that law school never did. I come home and think, shoot! I'm so behind! In law school when I was behind (um, always) I just shrugged my shoulders and reminded myself that cramming works just fine for law exams. Not so, unfortunately, with the Bar.

Today was the first of three real property lectures. I actually really like the property professor -- she's a mom and she'll randomly break out into a song most of the students in the room actually know, and then apologize for humiliating herself. She even did Triumph and Dr. Evil imitations at some point. And they were actually pretty good.

So, property: entertaining, which is good after the last two lectures, which consisted of a guy who, despite being I'm sure a very likable fellow, has the. most. annoying. voice. I have ever heard in my life, EVER. And he spent much of the time assuring us that we were sure to pass the Bar exam, no matter how badly we screwed up, if we just followed directions on the performance exams. His assurance came in the form of him telling (numerous times) an amusing story about some horribly stupid thing an exam-taker did, followed by a pregnant pause, followed by him cackling "PASS!" and giving a thumbs-up. He said "PASS!" loud enough to wake me up several times, which angered me. I hope he doesn't yell at me if I don't pass the Bar. It might make me jump off a bridge. At one point I turned to my friend and told her, "I need to hit something." And I meant it.

Even if not for the favorable comparison, I'm really enjoying property so far, and I think I've figured out how it became my best grade in law school: it's just like math. You learn a bunch of different formulas, you read a problem, you figure out which formula fits it, you apply the formula, you have an answer. Clean, direct, simple. No messing with questions like, "what would a reasonable person think?" Nope, it's basically all simple rules of construction. It's algebra, all over again. Or -- not even algebra. It's basic arithmetic. Unlike the stereotypical law student (and we've all made the jokes about how we went to law school so we wouldn't have to do math), I was actually really good at math and science and such. Better than I was at things like history or social studies. So why the hell did I go to law school? Good question. I should've become a mathematician. Man, now I'm just depressed.

Another random thing about me that matches up with maybe five other law students. Why is it that I just don't see what's so confusing about the Rule Against Perpetuities?? It is, I shit you not, one of the EASIEST things I had to learn in law school. Now, you wanna talk about Res Ipsa Loquitor, THAT'S a confusing rule. I seriously finally just figured out what it means this past month. And I still don't have a *great* handle on the topic. But the Rule Against Perpetuities? Give me a RAP word problem, I'll have an answer for you in under a minute, with probably 95% accuracy. I'm not trying to demean the struggle other people have with it, but the most mystifying thing about it to me is that law students are as frightened of it as they are of Prof. Kingsfield from The Paper Chase. Maybe it's just that whole math thing. I don't know.

But at least I'm enjoying real property. And now, off to catch up on my practice exams!

Save Toby!

We're running out of time!

Sigh....

I meant to get a lot of work done today, I really did. Yesterday, I told myself, was the slack-off day. My parents were in town and I had spent the night at my aunt and uncle's house, and in the morning I went with my mom and aunt to Bittersweet (oh my god. Best pastries in Chicago. Period.) and Trader Joe's. Which meant I was ignoring my diet for the third day in a row (I'm allowed, it's graduation weekend!). And since Mom and Dad were only in town for two days I certainly wasn't going to spend my last afternoon with them studying. So I fell farther behind in the becoming-way-too-busy Paced Program.

So today was supposed to be catch-up day.

First I slept in until about 11. I'm not feeling guilty for this one, since I didn't get much sleep this weekend and I've been waking up at 5:30-6 every morning the past week. But even after sleeping in so late, I didn't have enough energy to go to the gym. S'ok, I should focus on studying anyway. Except I barely got any studying done at all. Did a few contracts and torts problems, but that's about it. I still have a load of practice questions to finish, in addition to essays I need to start writing to turn in for grading. Oy, looks like a busy week for LF.

So, in an attempt not to hyperventilate, I've been looking for Los Angeles apartments and things look good so far. I may actually be able to get a decent place with plenty of living space in a good area, for a price within my budget. Score! Now if only my firm would tell me whether I'm working downtown or on the west side...

As another graduation present to myself (I intend to MILK that excuse for all it's worth!) I'm thinking of buying a new navel ring. For those not in the know, I got my navel pierced to go with my Halloween costume (a belly dancer) last year. I've had the same cuved barbell in it ever since, but I think I'd like to try something new. I'm going to stick with shopping at the place I got the piercing done, since if I buy from them they put it in for me for free, which is good since I'm scared shitless of trying to change it myself. I'd love to get this one, but I think it will have to wait until I actually have a salary. I think I've narrowed it down to this pretty dangly one and this one. I also love this one, but I don't think they have it in white gold. And I just don't do yellow gold. Opinions are more than welcome.

And now back to torts.

You may call me "Doctor"

I love that I am a "doctor" before I am a lawyer. My dad, who is a "real" doctor (that is, the kind you go to when you have the flu or when you've lost a major appendage), hates it. So of course my mom and I took great joy yesterday and today in pointing out that I, too, may refer to myself as a doctor. One of my favorite exchanges this morning was when my dad was asking me a legal question about a clinic he runs out of his office at home. I prefaced my answer by saying, "Now, this isn't official legal advice or anything. I'm not a lawyer yet. I'm just a doctor." My mom started cracking up. My dad gave me the Evil Eye.

Graduation was amazingly wonderful. I got up bright and early and opted for the horrifically uncomfortable shoes that perfectly matched my dress, rather than the comfortable ones that don't really go with much of anything. In spite of the fact that I'll be nursing blisters on my feet for the next month, I stand by my choice. There were actually two ceremonies. One was the law school as well as the social services and public policy schools (the medical school, business school, undergraduate colleges, and other graduate divisions had other ceremonies at various times yesterday and today). I drove down to the law school and parked my car, then followed the crowd of graduates, vestments slung over my arm (no way in HELL I was wearing that heavy velvet robe one second before I had to, in that heat and humidity), on a seven-block trek to the athletic facilities, where we were all given graduation cards and told to organize ourselves into the appropriate lines. Somehow, in spite of the fact that we're all adults with (as of this week) advanced degrees, this actually took somewhere around an hour to accomplish. We then marched out in our lines to the quadrangle -- which I'd actually never seen before -- for the graduation ceremony. My name isn't at the start of the alphabet, so I hung around somewhere near the middle of this enormous line of people, just outside the gates leading to the quadrangle. Then I heard bagpipes in the distance. Bagpipes! I thought excitedly. Another one of those all-important differences between state schools and rich private universities. Ahhh, money :)

As we approached the seating area, I saw big-screen TVs showing the bagpipe players marching in front of us. At first, I was confused. Why are they showing some parade on these screens? Then I realized that it was us they were training their cameras on. The crowd was so vast most people would only be able to see if there were screens for viewing the ceremony. Wow. As I got closer to the seating area, I recognized a familiar face -- my dad. I waved excitedly and he began taking pictures. Not with my camera, which I'd lent him the night before since he forgot his -- with my uncle's expensive new camera, his favorite new toy. I think when they left today, he missed the camera more than he missed me :) As I got closer my mom stepped out to give me a hug and handed me a bouquet of red roses, which amazingly didn't wilt in spite of the sweltering heat and humidity. I later found out that her minor disturbance raised the ire of one of the guards posted to keep order. Oh well. My family's never been one to let rules stop us from having a good time!


A fragile memoir

The second part of the ceremony, the hooding ceremony, took place in the big, gorgeous, un-air-conditioned chapel on campus. We had to line up in the basement, which felt like a sauna whose heat had been turned up far too high. People were literally dripping with sweat by the time we were finally allowed up to the open part of the chapel, where our guests and family members awaited, ready to pass out from the much-lesser heat they were experiencing, without velvet robes. Wimps. We then proceeded to be draped with velvet hoods, after which we marched outside and were confronted with the option of peeling our graduation attire off our soaking bodies, thus saving our lives, or leaving them on for picture-taking. Heaven forbid we not have pictures in our graduation gowns!

In spite of the heat, though, the experience is one I'll never forget. Here's to the closing of a long but amazing and worthwhile chapter in my life, and the opening of the next, hopefully even better, one.

Drumroll...

Well, the administration has surprised me and actually gotten out the graduation list, before graduation! I'm not sure if there were any names missing from the list -- I sure hope not. Congratulations to everyone who made it! All of my close friends were on it, at least, so I'm happy. Most important of all, my name made it! I'm actually graduating!

I'm trying not to be overly depressed about not getting honors, particularly since JCA did, which makes me incredibly happy and proud (she deserved it probably more than just about anyone at the school. I can't even imagine what it must be like to work as hard as she does). I will say, though, that it bothered me a lot more than it thought I would. Which sucks -- I really thought (hoped?) I had moved past this juvenile competitive shit. But apparently I haven't -- which, unless I find a way to deal with it, could leave me set up for a lifetime of misery. Sigh. For disgustingly Type-A folks like myself, any kind of perceived failure is tough to take, and I'm among the worst culprits here. Hey, cut my mopey immaturity some slack -- I am a Cancer, after all (which also sucks, because my birthday hits just a week and a half before the Bar exam. What a great birthday present!).

I suppose the bright point of this is that it helps me miss school less, as much as I'd love to be a professional student. Every time something like this happens, I remember how disgusted I am with the artificial evaluative bullshit and constant competition that plagues our fucked-up society, particularly in the higher echelons (and some wonder why they say money can't buy happiness). Yes, I get that I have a choice whether or not to buy into this. But in some sense it's kind of hard-wired into my personality. I am who I am, no matter how much I want to change it. But who knows, maybe if I go through a few years of therapy I'll get better :)

So, we'll focus on the positive. In two days, I will have a law degree from a kickass law school. My family is flying out to come to the ceremony and we're going to dinner at a great area restaurant. I have a fantabulous job lined up, in Los Angeles no less! And, completely unrelated but also incredibly important, I can crunch 70 pounds 60 times in less than three minutes. Awwww yeah. Life is pretty damn good after all.

But I thought Gen-Y was supposed to *counter* stereotypes!

Oh, Ashton... I had such hope when you started dating Demi... sigh.

I couldn't be a Communist if I tried

If I was old enough, I may have been able to play Veruca Salt without really having to act (okay, I'm probably *slightly* less bratty). I like having stuff. Like, owning stuff. Buying things and just having them, even if I rarely or never use them. I have movies I never watch, CDs I never listen to, games I never play, books I never read. With very few exceptions, I don't regret buying a single one of them. I'm the stereotypical annoying American materialist. There's no surer pick-me-up than racking up huge charges on my United Mileage Plus Visa (I *really* need to cash in on some free trips from that thing) and taking home my shiny new things and unwrapping them. I actually derive independent merriment from removing the plastic wrappers and seals from new media. I'm sure it's indicative of some sort of mental illness.

So last week I added to my disgustingly opulent collection during a series of visits to Best Buy (I love when I see my brother; he always makes me get out to Best Buy. I love that place more than most GUYS do) and Target. Among the spoils: The original Star Wars movies on widescreen DVD (finally!), the fourth season of Futurama, the first season of Arrested Devlopment (thank God it's been renewed for a third season! Jump on the bandwagon, people!) and, my favorite thing of all, an iPod Mini! Which goes perfectly with the iCozy odderie crocheted for me right before leaving town. iPods are WAY too much fun. Instead of lame up/down arrows, you move your finger around on the circular touchpad to toggle between menu options and adjust the volume. HOW COOL. I feel like I'm in a futuristic movie, especially since EVERYONE has one of these things, kind of like this new futuristic magical box is ordinary. Ha! It is far from ordinary! It is the receptacle within which gospel music and the Devil's rock-and-roll coexist in peaceful symbiosis. It contains more data than I could peruse in three days. It has captured my soul. I heart my magical new iPod Mini. It holds so much of my stuff! Including the new Coldplay CD, which I greedily snatched up from Borders today on my way home from Barbri.

On a completely unrelated note, JCA sent me the most hilarious link, which I simply have to pass on. The Best Star Wars Parody Yet. (And, yes, I am still in love with Hayden Christensen. What a brooding, adorable hunk.)

Jack of all trades

Today's nifty time-waster:

The Ed-Ray Age-May 46 Emotional, 79 Social, 36 Annoying, and 30 Tough.

You're the guy who can do a ton of things, but you're not particularly good at any of them. For some reason everyone likes you anyway. Link: shosam on The Which RPG Archetype Are You Test written by Ok Cupid

My corresponding law-obsessed thought: wonder how this bodes for my chances on the Bar?

Update: the link to the test now works. Thanks, odderie!

"Look, my last landlord was a total bitch"

This made me giggle. Apparently someone doesn't like the idea of a credit check before renting. Hmmm...

EXHAUSTED

My brother just left town this morning. I got up at 5:00 to head to the airport with him and my aunt (she drove, which was fortunate, since I could barely keep my eyes open). After that, I had to get my books and things together for my first day of Barbri.

Now, I will gladly admit that I enjoyed having the week off to spend with my brother, while my unfortunate friends toiled away at their first full week of Barbri (having started over a week ago). I appreciate that my California Barbri location starts later than everyone else. But in order to catch up, we have some long class days.

Loooooooong.

Today wasn't so terrible. It was only about six hours, and the torts professor is entertaining so far. But we have weekend classes. Including an eight-hour marathon day on Sunday. Followed by two more eight-hour sessions this week, on Tuesday and Thursday. Ugh. Kill me now.

Fortunately, we do have Friday, Saturday and Sunday off (which is good, since this coincides with graduation and my parents' and grandparents' upcoming visit). I foresee a Thursday night crash instead of what really ought to be quality time with the fam. I feel like this should be an exciting, relaxing time. Instead I'm completely tired and stressed out.

And I just realized that this post is looking almost like a log entry in a sloppy journal. Dammit, I'm just too tired to lay down witty prose right now!

So instead, I'll direct your attention to a highly entertaining a capella performance for the 90s kid in all of us (HT: Gus).